"
She nodded.
"It could not have been better finished," she said bravely. "And you
see I was right--when there is a noble building in the midst of them,
people grow ashamed of their mud-huts. They pull them down and begin
their own cathedrals--even when it is too late."
His eyes wandered instinctively toward the woman on the couch.
"Yes, you were quite right." He went to the curtained doorway, where
he found Mrs. Carmichael waiting for him, a quaint figure enough with
her sleeves rolled back, her skirts tucked up above her ankles, the
revolver stuck brigand-wise in her belt.
"I'm coming with you," she said coolly. "I can shoot as straight as
most of you, and a good deal better than George. I might be of some
use."
"You would be of use anywhere," he returned sincerely, "but, if I may
say so, you will be of more use here. Your courage will help the
others. As for us, we have fifty of my Gurkhas, and they will do all
that can be done. I will let you know what is happening. At present
you are safest here."
She sighed.
"Very well. And if any one is hurt, send him around. I have plenty of
bandages."
"Yes, of course."
It was a merely formal offer and acceptance. Both knew that it would
be scarcely worth while to bandage men already in their full health
and strength marked out for death. Nicholson went out, closing the
door after him, and once more an absolute stoic silence fell upon the
little company.
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